


Friendship Forged in War

by Rae666



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-20
Updated: 2011-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:10:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rae666/pseuds/Rae666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When does a colleague become a friend? Short one shot – character study style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendship Forged in War

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Spoilers for Season 1
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, sadly. I'm not that lucky.
> 
> A/N: Had this brief idea kicking around my head after rewatching the Sebastian scene from Blind Banker and had to write it up.

 

\----

 **Friend** _n_ **1** a person known well to another and regarded with liking, affection, and loyalty. **2** an ally in a fight or cause.

\----

 

One of the first times Sherlock had introduced John to someone, it had been as his colleague. Even something as simple as a colleague had sounded farfetched to Sergeant Sally Donovan. John had heard the doubt clear through her mockery.

 

 _“You’re not his friend,”_ she had informed him after. _“He doesn’t have friends.”_

Which had been fine by John. John wasn’t looking for a friend – he was looking for a flatmate and Sherlock, however eccentric, had fit the bill. Sherlock was, well, he was Sherlock Holmes. He was a brilliant mind. He was someone to be admired. He was a piece of art on a gallery wall and John, John was just someone passing by, looking in at what was there.

 

And that was fine. So they were flatmates. They were colleagues. And it was fine.

 

Then John had met Sebastian with his floppy Eton hairstyle, expensive suit and flashy watch. Sebastian with the vice-like grip, the office with a view and secretary hanging by at a moment’s notice. Sebastian who seemed to _know_ Sherlock and yet, didn’t really know him at all.

 

 _“This is my_ friend _– John Watson.”_

And there was emphasis on that one word – deliberate emphasis that John had failed to pick up on until they were seated in the office. He already knew Sherlock better than to ask him about it outright though. Besides, John had only imagined the flash of hurt that had skimmed across Sherlock’s features for the briefest of moments when John had corrected him.

 

 _“Friend?”_

 _“Colleague.”_

Right?

 

And that pit in his stomach had nothing to do with the exchange between Sebastian and Sherlock. It had nothing to do with the fact that the man who had greeted Sherlock with a cheerful ‘buddy’ was most definitely _not_ a buddy. He was no friend. That man – and John would never even think to claim to be as good at deducing things as Sherlock but he was pretty damn certain about this one – was one of those people the consulting detective had mentioned once. He was one of those who told Sherlock, in no polite terms, to ‘piss off’.

 

 _This is my_ friend.

 

Said in very much the same way a man would claim the classy red Ferrari parked out front of the school reunion party to be his. Because, as a kid, he had rode a beat up, hand-me-down of a bike with a chain that came off every five minutes and mangled handlebars that were almost impossible to navigate with whilst the other kids had brand new BMXs with several gears and a holder on the frame for a water bottle.

 

 _Friend._

 

John had wondered many times, especially upon meeting Mycroft, what Sherlock had been like growing up. But it wasn’t until that moment, that meeting with Sebastian, that he truly realised the answer to that query.

 

Lonely.

 

But Sherlock was a self-declared sociopath who claimed he cared for no one. Caring was a distraction. It was a nuisance that the great consulting detective had apparently decided he could live without. Caring also, as John knew very well from personal experience, often ended in hurt.

 

So maybe, John had decided, it wasn’t that Sherlock didn’t care or that he had never cared, but instead it was that he had trained himself not to care. He had built a careful wall around himself, an air of arrogance that covered the loneliness that came with brilliance.

 

He had kept people separate. He had pushed them away because he didn’t want to be hurt.

 

And as John stepped out from the cubicle beside the pool, bomb strapped to his chest – heavy and suffocating – hidden by the oversized coat, he saw Sherlock falter. He saw a crack in the wall and felt a stab in his heart at the brief betrayal that flashed across the detective’s eyes – guilty as he thought of being the cause.

 

 _“John.”_

 

John swallowed, his throat uncomfortably swollen… thick…

 

 _“What… would you like me… to make him say… next?”_

When does a flatmate become a colleague?

 

 _“Gottle o’gear, gottle o’gear, gottle o’ge-ar”_

 _“Stop it!”_

When does a colleague become a friend?

 

 _“I stopped him, I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart.”_

When had Sherlock Holmes started to care?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
